A Man Said To the Universe
by Harkpad
Summary: A coda of sorts to "From Out of the Rain." Ianto reveals a private guilt and Jack reveals a strong belief. Inspired by a poem by Stephen Crane.


"**A Man Said to the Universe" **

**(**A Coda of sorts to "_From Out of the Rain_")

The couch was lumpy and uneven, and Ianto could feel every inconsistency in the cushion he was sitting on. He felt like the proverbial finder of the pea in his discomfort, but he also felt like there was nowhere else he could be at the moment. If he went outside, he'd want to scream into the darkness of the cold, black night. If he went home to his flat he figured he'd probably smash every piece of furniture he owned. If he ventured into Jack's office he would probably fuck Jack senseless but not feel a thing. Instead, he sat on this lumpy couch in the hub, staring at the ceiling and occasionally twisting his hands together. He had loosened his tie, but he couldn't take it off. It was potential, the tie, and a possible noose if anyone else decided to follow through on what Ianto felt like doing.

He felt Jack sat down next to him wordlessly and could feel his worried gaze as Ianto took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "You did the paperwork?" Ianto asked, still staring at the ceiling.

"Yes," Jack replied gently, "Can I get you a drink or anything?"

Ianto shook his head no.

They were quiet again for a moment before Jack sighed, "Ianto, I know the Night Travelers bothered you a lot. Why?"

Ianto could hear the uncertainty in Jack's voice, the slight tremor in the face of a problem he didn't understand. He ran his fingers through his own hair and leaned forward, finally pulling his eyes from the ceiling to contemplate his hands. "We only saved one, Jack. There were seven lives at stake and we only saved _one_."

"One is good," Jack replied evenly.

He leaned into Ianto's shoulder, but Ianto pushed him away and stood up, his hand furiously rubbing his hair, and he began to pace.

"How can you say that? One isn't good, it's one. There were six who died, Jack, including that boy's family. How can that be a success?" Ianto raged, unleashing his pent-up frustration with a fury.

Jack didn't get up, but Ianto saw his face darken. "Did I say it was a success? No. I said one was good." He sighed, "There's a difference."

The calmness of Jack's voice infuriated Ianto. "What difference? We didn't get there fast enough. We didn't figure it out soon enough." Ianto retorted, his voice rising in volume.

Jack stood, then, and he startled Ianto by stopping his pacing and grabbing his arms, gripping him tightly and looking hard into his eyes. Ianto felt Jack's blue eyes pierce him like a knife, and heard his voice inch toward the 'captain' tone in his desperation to get control of a situation Ianto was not offering any control over. "Ianto, stop. What's going on? Where is this coming from? We did our best. We _didn't_ make mistakes. It just didn't work out, but sometimes that happens! There's no point assigning blame."

Fury. Rage. Jack could use his captain tone all he wanted but that would not reign in the darkness Ianto could feel creeping into his gut. He wasn't going to let Jack get control over him with meaningless declarations. "No point?" Ianto whispered, his voice shaking, "We. Weren't. Fast. Enough. There: I assign blame on us. The point is that we _deserve_ it, dammit!" He ended with vehemence, a steel statement.

Jack stepped back and a flicker of fear passed through his icy eyes. His voice stopped being authoritative and Ianto could hear him shift to try a different tactic: "Do you need this?" Jack finally asked.

That wasn't what Ianto expected to hear. "What?" he asked, taking a step away from Jack.

"Do you need this?" Jack repeated smoothly, a velvet sheen to his voice coming through, and Ianto felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.

"Do I need what?" Ianto countered.

Jack stepped back into Ianto's space and Ianto could swear that Jack's voice got even smoother, "This rage. This blame. Do you need me to say that it was my fault those people died? I didn't manage to actually catch the Night Travelers all those years ago and we weren't fast enough today. So it's my fault. Is that what you need me to say so that someone gets blamed?" Jack replied, calmly, voice even.

It was as if Jack had pulled the chair out from under him and his stomach rolled. His face felt slack, suddenly, and his legs wavered beneath him. He felt Jack catch him and guide him back to the couch, easing him down. Ianto buried his face in his hands and could feel the moisture. He took a deep breath and replied, "I don't know, Jack," his voice muted by his hands. "I need there to have been a reason. I need to know that _if_ it wasn't your fault, or _my_ fault, that it was _someone's_ fault. That little boy got his family torn away from him today, and what if . . ." his voice broke.

"What if what," Jack prodded.

After a pause, Ianto leaned back and looked again at the ceiling. Here it came, and he couldn't hold his voice in to stop it: "What if he ends up like the old woman at Providence Park? What if this is all too much for him to handle and the Night Travelers send someone else round the bend? What if that happens?_" _His voice had dropped to a whisper.

Providence Park. The place where his life went to hell. The place that turned his father's heart to stone and made the man disappear, only to be replaced by a tower of anger, hatred, and desperation that took all remnants of emotion out in violence against Ianto. His mother's admittance to Providence Park was where it _all_ had started.

Ianto saw a strange look pass over Jack's face, and he saw Jack's face soften and heard his voice lose its chill. "Ianto," he said, "That's a far reach to put that boy in Providence Park like that woman after all of this. He's going to have help; we'll make sure he gets help. Okay? We can do that."

Ianto watched as Jack's eyes grew soft and his face teemed with compassion, understanding.

Jack went on, "Ianto, people end up in Providence Park for no reason other than their brains don't work in a way that allows them to survive outside of Providence Park. That woman might have ended up there even if she hadn't seen the Night Travelers. That's no one's fault." Ianto trembled as Jack wrapped his arm around him and held him tight.

Ianto had pulled his head back down and he buried his face in his hands again, "Has to be someone's fault, Jack," he said, almost petulantly.

Jack whispered gently, "Is that what your father told you?"

The statement was like a sucker punch to his gut, and he glared at Jack through tear-filled eyes. He took a breath and he felt the anger that tried to fill his throat evaporate like petrol fumes amidst the truth, and then he deflated, sank his head back to his hands, "Yes," he whispered.

His eyes were clenched shut, but he felt Jack brush his hand against his cheek, "No. Ianto, you've seen enough here to know better than go looking for a reason, right? I mean, you've seen the randomness of the rift. There's _no_ reason. There's _no_ fault. People go insane. _Parents_ go insane. Their children do _not_ cause their parents to go insane. Bad things happen to parents for no damned reason. We did _not_ create the Night Travelers. We did _not_ murder those people. We did _not_ even _fail_ to save them, dammit. We _managed_ to save one. And that's good," Jack ended vehemently.

Ianto couldn't answer. He didn't know what to say, how to counter Jack's crystal belief in this randomness. Jack's smooth, calm voice seemed to soothe the angry voice raging in his memory, to calm the rage that really didn't belong to Ianto but that had fooled him into thinking it _did_ belonged to him.

"Jack, do you really believe there's no reason for things? Things just happen?" Ianto asked solemnly.

Jack thought for a moment and then began talking in a soft, reverent voice. "Have you heard of Stephen Crane? An American author and poet alive in the late 1800s?"

Ianto gave a soft smile and nodded yes, he'd done a stint at University.

"Well, he wrote a little poem. Lots of folks don't like it. You might not like it. But I think it's pretty accurate."

"What did it say?" Ianto asked, drying his eyes, hoping Jack would offer an answer he could use.

Jack paused, and said, "If you need something to blame, go ahead and blame the Universe, Ianto. I agree with Crane and figure it's about as accurate as you're gonna get."

Ianto looked into Jack's eyes and saw the conviction in them, the conviction that children should not carry blame, that parents should not carry blame, that time wasted assigning blame to anything other than the Universe that Jack had seen so much of was better spent in the moment, taking comfort in each other, in the warmth of each other's company. In the aftermath of devastation, Jack leaned in and held Ianto in his arms, offering himself as consolation. _That_ was an answer Ianto could use.

"**A Man Said To the Universe" by Stephen Crane**

_A man said to the Universe: "Sir, I exist!"_

"_However," the Universe replied, "The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation."_


End file.
